Orange Manifestation
by Angela and MiniMix
Summary: When you're drenched in the need to live for your final night, you just don't give a damn. MattMatsuda, oneshot.


So other than one person on my MSN buddy list I believe I am, in fact, one of only two MattxMatsuda fans in the world. It's a little lonely in my corner of the fandom. And a search for MattMatsuda yeilded one single result, and not even a pairing at that.

Needless to say, I felt the need to enlarge our corner a little bit. We've got snacks for anyone wanting to join the MatsuMatt club.

**Thanks to Bonzai-Bunny, HikariDaeron, ComputerFreak101 and Sqee for helping me figure out that one little section I hated immensely. Couldn't do it without you.**

* * *

One night stands were never Matt's thing, but for tonight he would make an exception. He was going to die tomorrow (Mello wasn't psychic, he didn't trust the blonde's assurances), so he figured he might as well live a little first, which had led to him here in the bar, hitting on a slightly older man.

He preferred women, but when one is drunk, preferences of gender tend to go out the window along with the ability to speak without slurs, followed by common sense.

As it was, the man - Matt vaguely recalled him being named Matsuda, but maybe that was someone else - was making his own passes at Matt when he stopped talking long enough to sip his beer.

Matt really didn't know what they were talking about anymore; he'd begun tuning out most of what the man was saying once he realized _"want to go have sex?"_ wouldn't be in the conversation anytime soon.

Growing bored of listening to him ramble, Matt leaned over and shut him up with a sloppy kiss.

The other paused, completely taken-a-back by Matt's forwardness. But under the hazy lights and flickering sense that was a drunken stupor he wouldn't care to break out of, he found his hands tangled in the soft _ohit'ssodamnsoft _red hair and god _damn_ if the lingering taste of cigarettes didn't make him greedy. Like the cancer sticks he'd been smoking since he came in, Matt was a fiery blend of passion and smoke and maybe just this once, Matsuda would let himself want more.

The redhead finally pulled away for air when Matsuda began pawing at his shirt drunkenly, a large grin plastered across his face like a sick mockery of a clown.

"Hey..." Matt fumbled for the cigarettes in his pocket and his expression might have been a smirk if it were untainted by the alcohol. "We should... we should go to my place..." He gave up on a pack and leaned in to press his lips against the older male again. The wicked feeling of warm, soft lips coated in alcohol against his own shattered his train of thought.

They broke apart again and Matt remembered the point he was trying to get across to Matsuda, who was clamoring at his belt despite being in a public place.

Because God it had been _that long_.

"I have a roommate but he won't be back for awhile." Matt removed Matsuda's hands, because he felt that being the least plastered one, it was his duty. "We'll get plenty of time together, you know?"

And Matsuda, who had been staring at Matt's belt with a certain concentration and seriousness that only being drunk could produce, looked up with his signature goofy grin.

Yeah, he understood.

It didn't take long for the two men to stumble into the apartment Matt shared with Mello. Their movements were uncoordinated and as slurred as their speech and it took even less time for them to land on a bed in a mass of limbs, their clothing strewn across the apartment.

--

Matsuda woke up to an empty bed and a pounding headache. It took him a few minutes to remember where he was and why. Glimpses of a vague memory toyed with him - flash of light from a pair of goggles, silky red hair, something about a belt and the lazy drift of cigarette smoke...

And then Matsuda was out of bed and hastily throwing on his clothes, desperate to get home and to work. There was only so much he could hide from those deep piercing eyes...

Matt chuckled as he saw the black hair dart across his vision in the streets below, stumbling to find a cab or just _some_ way to get home. He watched the smoke from the tip of his cigarette dance upwards in an almost jerky manner, the wind ruffling the already bedridden hair and teasing his half-naked body. He flicked off some crumbling ash and watched it cascade until it was swallowed up by the Tokyo air and nothingness. Then Matt started to laugh.

Everything just seemed so much better before you died.


End file.
